A/N: Thank you very much for the constructive criticisms! I tried to improve my grammar in this chapter but I don't know how it turned out, really.
Thanks for all the comments, favorites, follows (WTF, a hundred!) and kudos! I'm not ashamed to say that those things have inspired me to keep writing!
Well, as RoseJustice pointed out, you may have noticed that my chapters are a bit on the short side. Actually, I'm a really slow writer. So I allot about 2 000 words per chapter so that I could pace myself. It's psychological, you see. Whenever I'm feeling lazy, I look at the word count and say, "Just a few more words and you have another chapter!"
DISCLAIMER: The Hobbit is not mine. I am not a 100+ year-old male genius. Nor am I an awesome director with initials PJ
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For hours, Bilbo and Dori talked about all sorts of things, ranging from the architecture of Bag End to the fabric of the hobbit's best waistcoat. Throughout it all, Bilbo realized that Dori was indeed a hobbit in dwarf skin. They would talk about crochet, good books, comfy armchairs, flower language, and tasteful wines. When they reached the subject of cooking, Bombur joined the talks. The three of them gladly exchanged recipes, discussing the best way to cook lambs, chicken, and pork.
Inevitably, the topic of family came up.
"Aye! I have a lovely wife waiting for me in Ered Luin," Bombur cheerfully informed them. "She is as beautiful as the diamonds she cuts."
"All I have are my brothers," Dori interjected. His expression was slowly setting into a disapproving frown. "Although one of them gives great shame to our family name."
"Brothers? You have siblings other than Ori?" Bilbo asked curiously.
"Aye," the incensed voice of a dwarf behind them interrupted, braided eyebrows raised condescendingly. "But he's embarrassed of me just because I do whatever's necessary to put food on the table."
"Stealing things is in no way honorable, Nori!" Dori spat, pointing at the dwarf. "We had enough money without you doing something ghastly!"
"Oh?" The dwarf pulled his pony near Dori's, eyes burning with barely contained fury. "And maybe that's the reason why Ori needed to work in the library instead of studying? Because we had enough money?"
Dori's nostrils flared. "If you had been working a proper livelihood, Ori wouldn't have to do so! You are remiss in your duties as a brother."
Bilbo watched with wide eyes as the brothers squabbled. Ori was behind them, sighing with exasperation at their antics. No one else was shocked, leading Bilbo so conclude that their arguments must have been a daily occurrence. Bilbo himself, however, was very alarmed at the sight. Dori and his brother looked like they were about to come to blows! They spat viciously at each other, faces twisted in anger and evident hurt.
"Sorry about them, Master Baggins," Ori said apologetically, shaking his head. "They're always like this." Sadness colored the young dwarf's tone as he stared at his bickering brothers.
Curiosity nagged the back of Bilbo's mind. "If . . . If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are they arguing about?"
Ori shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, although everyone could see how dismayed he was by it all. "The usual. Nori's a thief by trade, you see. He gets into all sorts of trouble. Dori, of course, wants nothing to do with it. And consequently, with Nori himself." In a lowered voice, Ori muttered with a frown. "Even though Nori's tactics often helped us when we're in a pinch."
A thief? There was already a thief in the Company? Then, why . . . Question crossed Bilbo's mind and he planned to ask Nori about them at the next possible chance.
"A'right, knock't off, ye two," Dwalin growled, getting between the brothers. He threw each of them a warning glance. "I've had enough of yer jabbering. Resolve your own issues out of my hearing." Side-eyeing Nori, Dwalin added in a patronizing tone, "If ye ask me, nothing a dastardly thief say could prove enough defense for his treacherous ways."
Nori's grip onto his reins tightened, knuckles turning white. "It's a good thing no one asked you then, mênu shar!" The dwarf practically shouted.
Dwalin's face was equally thunderous. "Why you—"
"Kili! Fili!" Thorin barked, unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly?) cutting of the pair's argument. "Scout ahead. Find a suitable camping ground."
"Yes, Uncle!" they replied in unison, an ability that still amazed Bilbo because how in Eru's name do they do that? Did they practice all possible scenarios in their free time?
The brothers both gave Bilbo a hearty clap on the back before forging ahead of the Company.
Bilbo looked up at the darkening sky, stars hesitantly twinkling amongst the clouds. The sun was setting behind them, casting a beautiful orange glow upon the surroundings. Bilbo listened to the peaceful sounds of birds chirping, leaves brushing against each other, and crickets playing their harmony.
It was a serene day with no evident signs of danger.
Bilbo sighed. Not today, then.
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They camped near the edge of a cliff. A long drop into a dark ravine padded two sides, and a humongous rock outcropping gave them shelter for the night.
"It's perfect. Less flanks to defend from a night raid," Kili had explained.
The hobbit thought it was also less ground to stand by if ever they were attacked. But Bilbo simply nodded, gingerly placing down the logs he was tasked to gather.
"Master Baggins." The hobbit turned to the owner of the voice, who was the dwarf with an ear trumpet. The dwarf held out a bottle full of gray viscous liquid. "It's your first time riding, isn't it, lad?"
"Y-Yes, it is." Bilbo accepted the jar, looking at it questioningly.
His whole body ached from the incessant rocking of the pony, unused as it was when it came to prolonged riding. Furthermore, the saddle had dug into his skin, chafing his thighs and leaving red rashes. He couldn't fully bend his legs since, and gathering firewood had been harder than it was supposed to be.
"It's a salve for sore muscles. Just apply it every night until you get used to riding," the dwarf explained patiently. "Ask me for more if you run out."
"Oh, t-thank you," Bilbo replied, heartened. Before the hobbit could ask for his name—because really, Bilbo couldn't remember all thirteen names in an instant, could he?—the dwarf had already strode away to tend to the other dwarrows.
Bilbo was just left staring at the salve with a small smile.
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Because of the bouts of lethargy he had been experiencing that day, Bilbo fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow of his sleeping bag. Although the ground was full of jutting rocks and the sleeping bag was not as comfortable as his bed back in Bag End, his fatigued body didn't care at all. He dreamt of seeing the shafts of light reflected by the waters as he drowned in the seabed, dreamt of free falling into the deep dark abyss, dreamt pushing someone out of danger and pushing himself in it, and all sorts of wonderful scenarios. He was dreaming of ravenous wolves chomping down on his torso when frightening screeches awakened him.
"Wolves?" was the first thing he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The dancing flames casted eerie shadows on the area of their shelter. Some dwarrows were already asleep while the rest laid relaxed against the stones, smoking their pipes. His brain came awake and he realized, "Wolves don't screech like eagles."
"Orcs."
Bilbo shifted around to find Fili and Kili sitting by the fire. Their expressions were grim as they stared into the distance.
"Orcs?" Bilbo went to join the brothers by the fire. He didn't know orcs were on the table. Why didn't anyone tell him?
"Throat-cutters." Bilbo's hand went to said throat. He read that cutting the throat meant drowning in your own blood. It is a most certain death, though a bit slow for Bilbo's taste. "There'll be dozens of them out there." Fili made a careless flippant gesture at the forest. "The lowland's crawling with them."
"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep," Kili added, widening his eyes in mock horror. "Quick and quiet. No screams, just lots of blood."
"Are they more vicious than goblins?" Bilbo couldn't help but ask.
"Much much more," Kili replied, nodding sagely.
Bilbo hummed noncommittally. Here he was, solely daydreaming about goblins when orcs were included too! Orcs were hardy creatures with endless amount of bloodlust in their veins. They are creatures of darkness that wrought chaos and death everywhere they go. For a moment, Bilbo selfishly hoped that they encounter some; to be killed by such creatures would be most glorious. He rubbed his palms when he noticed that they started trembling, unable to contain his anticipation for such event.
But no, he shouldn't wish for it. He wanted death but he particularly didn't want to take anyone with him. Perhaps if he left the Company to journey through the lowlands instead . . . No, no, no. He signed a contract!
Chuckles filtered through his hearing, and Bilbo blinked confusedly as he realized that Fili and Kili were laughing. At him, no less!
"We didn't mean to frighten you, Bilbo," Fili assured, mistaking the shaking of his limbs for that of fright.
Bilbo's eyes widened. "Were you jesting about the orcs?" Ooh, these boys really got his hopes up.
"You think that's funny?" Thorin's angry tone cut through their discussion. All three of them looked up to see their leader striding over them, eyes cold as ice. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"
Both Fili and Kili averted their eyes as if ashamed. "W-We didn't mean anything by it."
"No, you didn't." Thorin's expression belied barely contained rage. "You know nothing of the world," he all but spat before heading to the edge of their camp.
Probably to brood as the wind sails through his braids, Bilbo thought. The boys had their heads bowed, dejected in the wake of their uncle's reprimand. The hobbit was about to comfort them but Balin beat him to it.
"Don't mind him, laddie." The elder dwarf moved closer to join their little circle around the fire. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs." Balin gave the said dwarf a sympathetic look. "After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror, Thorin's grandfather, tried to reclaim the ancient kingdom of Moria."
Balin weaved a tale of catastrophe, war, and bloodbaths. He narrated the cons of monsters and the bravery of heroes – one hero in particular, Bilbo learned. Thorin, when he saw his grandfather decapitated by an orc called Azog the Defiler, rallied the dwarrow forces against the orcs'. Using only an oaken branch as a shield, he fought against the cruelty of orcs with his people, thus earning the epithet 'Oakenshield'. Thorin had practically single-handedly won them the battle of Azanulbizar.
Bilbo was dumbstruck with wonderment as he listened. He belatedly realized that all the dwarrows were awake, drawn in by the Balin's tale.
"And I thought to myself then, there is one I could follow," Balin's eyes glimmered in the firelight as he sent Thorin a look of outmost pride. "There is one I could call king."
All eyes were on Thorin, no small amount of respect and awe evident on their faces. Bilbo himself couldn't help but admire and envy the courage of the dwarf. Losing so much—his home, his grandfather, his father—yet still having the will to go on, the determination to reclaim his homeland . . . Bilbo could only dream he was that brave. As it was, he was willing to take the coward's way if it meant ending this long arduous existence.
The dwarven leader turned around, a majestic figure among peasants, and gave them a nod of acknowledgement. And whoa, would you look at the timing of that hair-ruffling wind, went through Bilbo's mind as well.
The dwarrows didn't know it yet but that was when their loyalty to one Thorin Oakenshield was cemented.
"And the pale orc?" Bilbo inquired to Balin, curious to the fate of such malevolent creature. Surely an amputated arm did not imply assured death? "What happened to him?"
"He slunk back to the hole whence he came," Thorin answered, pacing back again into camp. Bilbo wished he would stay in one place. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."
Bilbo frowned. Judging by Thorin's wording, they didn't actually find a body. So what was to say the orc was truly dead? Why, Bilbo knew a hobbit once who apparently committed suicide; it was the first suicide in the Shire in over a century. A body was found, a funeral was held and yet, two years later, behold! He just came walking in the Shire like nothing happened. The hobbit had apparently faked his death for some reason or another. That was why Bilbo preferred not to jump off a tall structure like that hobbit; other hobbits might think his death was just another fraud.
But the battle of Moria had been over a hundred years now, hadn't it? Surely Azog would show himself to Thorin in the past years, for revenge and some other troublesome nonsense, if the orc was still alive?
In the end, Bilbo merely concluded that it didn't really matter. He only had a few more days left to live after all.
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A/N: Unbeta'ed so all mistakes are because I'm a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
OMG, why am I always picking on Thorin? Seriously though, watch some of his 'majestic' scenes and it's so funny without background music.
mênu shar = you baldy
P.S. What? What do you mean Sherlock reference? *sweats profusely* There's no such thing here . . .
Next up: Bilbo receives more of dwarf kindness. Thorin shows his good sense by camping near a rundown shack. We all know where this is going . . .
Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
Have an awesome day!
~ Vividpast
